


And I Am My Own Bad Luck

by Leonawriter



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, But in such a vague and AU way that it might as well not be, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Post Episode: Zurich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonawriter/pseuds/Leonawriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retrospect said that they should have seen the signs. To hell with the signs - Douglas should have figured it out when he'd seen the two tell-tale scars on Martin's back several years ago. Instead, it took until now for the penny to drop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Am My Own Bad Luck

"Martin? Martin, what _the hell-?!"_

He really should have figured it out all the way back then, in the hotel room in Venice, too warm in the summer to bear the heat of their uniforms while on layover until they were ready to fly back home.

"What _happened_ to you?"

Perhaps he shouldn't have pressed, or questioned his captain in such a way, but they hadn't known each other long and the shock of seeing someone with scars running down their back, from their shoulder blades, down and out like some might put tattoos of wings, did something to a person. Especially if they've been through enough medical training to know how dangerous injuries like those must have been, when getting them.

Martin never seemed bothered, though, apart from the slight cringe he'd had at the knowledge that Douglas had  _seen_.

"Nothing. It's nothing, all right? Happened a long time ago. No story, nothing."

A shirt had been pulled on almost aggressively to cover up the scars, red and puckered things that they were, and Martin had glared at his co-pilot the entire time they were in Venice, even through the adequately edible meal that Carolyn had once paid for them to all have.

It had been as though he was daring Douglas to bring it up again. Daring him to push. 

Oh, he'd been tempted. Very tempted. He'd often try to bring it up in a roundabout way, asking about old embarrassing incidents and accidents, even made a game of it on a particularly long trip, once. Tit for tat, and all. 

He should have suspected at least. 

It was hardly as though it was impossible to get those sorts of scars from other means - accidental was rare, but not unheard of, and the same with self-inflicted, though he really hoped it hadn't been something someone else had done  _to_  Martin. It really wasn't the kind of thing anyone deserved. Certainly not just for being a pretentious, perfectionist prat at times.

It certainly made sense of why Martin seemed to hate the rain. And of why he'd protected his back more than anything when being knocked around by Arthur's eleven year old cousin. Made more sense of a young Martin's dreams, of drunken ramblings and implications of being left out of secrets, because why open up to someone who never seemed to be interested in doing the same?

It should have been easy, to rule out all other possibilities and be left with the only, in the end, truly logical one.

"And this is why you panicked at the interview," Douglas was saying now, in the present.

A woman was comforting her still-crying child who was only just coming to terms with what had just happened, but even then, she was managing to send suspicious looks their way.

Douglas himself was hardly what you'd call 'calm'. He was just pretending he was. It was an easy thing to do, when you had that much practice, although he's now remembering some particularly awful cases he'd been involved in and had heard about while he was a medical student. The gloopy parts hadn't been the only ones that had driven him away.

Martin was the only one who was still, who wasn't saying a word. Like a Michelangelo statue in a torn and ripped pilot's uniform.

He allowed himself to swallow and take the sight in for just a moment, while he thought that it didn't matter because if he couldn't now then when else  _could_ he, and then, hesitantly and warily, reached a hand over to Martin's shoulder.

He bristled at the touch, and for a moment Douglas thought he'd take off, do a runner, and then no one would ever find him again, lost to the winds.

He didn't, though, and Martin relaxed by increments, letting his guard down enough to turn to him, eyes wide as though he'd done something  _wrong_.

"Come on," Douglas said softly. "Let's get back to G-ERTI."

It took a moment before Martin nodded, still nervous, and turned his feet in the opposite direction. From the cliff and the open sea and air to the land and solid ground, albeit with a sense of yearning in his movements that left Douglas feeling like, for once, he was the one left out of the club, that there was something special that he'd never, ever have the honour of truly understanding.

They started to walk. He kept his hand on Martin's shoulder, his arm when that became awkward, just for the self-gratifying feeling of being able to ground his captain, even if Martin could realistically just shake him off whenever he liked.

The woman called after them, at first in words that the wind snatched away.

"Wait! Wait, please-!"

Martin was the first to turn around, so Douglas almost missed the on-edge smile she sent them both.

"Thank you.  _Thank you_."

Martin stammered out something or other to the tune of how it was only his duty, anyone would have done the same, and Douglas felt something in him relax as he tried not to laugh at how very  _Martin_ it was, because really, it wasn't as though Martin had changed at all.

They were halfway back to the airfield when Martin said, out of the blue, "Yes."

People were staring at them, by now. The affirmation could have come from anything. 

"The interview, I mean."

"Ah."

Seconds passed. Someone stopped cycling in the middle of the pavement, but no one said a word.

"Why go, though? If you knew you wouldn't really take it."

Martin shrugged, the sound both louder and quieter than what he was used to it being. Fabric rustling up against something new. Something that moved, sometimes, silent as an owl.

"I guess... I wanted to know if I  _could_. I started here at MJN because no one else would take me, and especially when I'd failed my CPL so many times-"

"Oh, and about that. Instrument ratings?"

Martin huffed, sending a waft of air when the two copper-coloured masses of feathers shifted on his back.

"I kept forgetting what everything was for. I wouldn't look at the altimeters or the- other things, so the instructors assumed I wasn't paying due care. Easy mistake. For both of us. I knew exactly what I was doing, I could fly - damn it, Douglas, I can  _fly_."

"Yes," said Douglas, for once in complete agreement. "Yes, you can. As well as any can fly."

Martin cracked a smile.

"Anyway. I knew I could fly, but I wanted to know if I could be a pilot. A proper pilot. Not  _just_ a desperate one."

"About that. If Carolyn wasn't paying you before, she'd definitely have to start now. Though - really, Martin. Icarus?"

Martin ducked his head.

"My inner ear problem," he admitted. "It's air worthy - perfectly air worthy, either way. But. The first time I really  _flew_ , it was on holiday. I didn't know I could before Caitlyn started falling off the hotel balcony." Douglas winced. "And then as soon as she was safe, I was doing loop the loops over the lake."

"Oh,  _Martin_."

"I was ten years old! And the wind... it felt so  _good_. Like I didn't want to have to ever use my feet again. Until I started feeling dizzy, and... the last thing I remember is the glare of the sun before I blacked out. When I came to I was all wet, and none of them even cared that I'm a genetic freak of nature, just that I was alive. Dad started calling me Icarus after that. I didn't mind all that much. Everyone else just thought it meant he never expected me to be a pilot."

They were nearly at the hangar. Arthur should still be cleaning up from the trip there. And although he'd expected her to be elsewhere by now, having a breath of fresh air and a stretch of the legs, Carolyn could be seen, once they got close enough, to be inside as well.

"If it helps ease your mind any Martin, I don't think that you're a genetic freak of nature."

He wished that it didn't hurt, that Martin looked  _surprised_. Although, perhaps he should have expected that kind of reaction by now. This was Martin, after all. And this was, after all, one of the winged people that he was dealing with.

"Really? I mean, you really think so?"

Silently, Douglas wanted in that moment to give bloody noses to anyone who  _had_ said so, but saying that would be a bit  _much_.

"Well, frankly,  _yes_. I really do."

Arthur chose to appear just as the red that was colouring in Martin's face the same colour as Martin's wings started to reach his ears.

"Hi, Douglas! Hi, Martin -  _wow!_ Skip, are those really  _yours_ _?"_

Martin opened his mouth, but Douglas got in before Martin could put his foot in it.

"Yes, Arthur, they are, in fact, his. They're currently rather attached to him, although they'll have to disappear again when he needs to take off his uniform - which is utterly ruined, by the way, you're going to have to get a new jacket and shirt at  _least_  - but for now," he said as Carolyn appeared at the fuselage door at the top of the stairs, a funny look on her face that he was sure had been on his not too long ago, "feel free to marvel on the exact way our captain was able to save a five year old boy from a fatal collision with the sand."

"Rocks," Martin corrected quietly, glowing - both figuratively and literally - with barely concealed pride.

"Even better," Douglas added.

 _"Wow_ ," Arthur reiterated, using up prior vocabulary just in case it hadn't been noticed the first time around. "Wow, that's - Skip, you're  _brilliant!"_

**Author's Note:**

> The title's from how earlier, out of curiosity (and not being able to hear it clearly otherwise) I started reading the lyrics to 'The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway' by Genesis. I think it fits Martin quite well in general.
> 
> As for the wings, the in-universe understanding is that every so often, someone just will be born with the potential to sprout wings. Usually of a colour that matches their hair, but not always. Some can go their whole lives without, but if they do, it's usually a painful process to get them out (and I'd assume, to get them gone again) although this is much the same as it's assumed that it is for lycanthropes - the sensation of muscles and bones changing to make way for a completely new structure. That's also why there are scars, why some people affect these scars as a fashion statement of sorts, and the results of the above that Douglas was referring to getting unnerved by in medical school.
> 
> All that said, yes - those with this ability are discriminated against, in this universe. They're different, they're 'other', and science is still trying to define them. 
> 
> You'd think this makes them great pilots, but unfortunately, most airlines seem wary of the idea of a pilot suddenly endangering the crew by making an impromptu skydive, regardless how completely unrealistic it would be for a pilot to even think of such a thing.


End file.
